Dreaming the Same Dream
by BluntJoey
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter, despite being the celebrated "Chosen One" who'd recently vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at last (not to mention his already preceded glory as the "Boy Who Lived", too), suffers greatly in aftermath of it all. As Harry returns to Hogwarts for his "belated" seventh year, a certain most unguessable fellow spotlights into Harry's life: Draco Malfoy!
1. Chapter 1

"Dreaming the Same Dream"

By** BluntJoey**

**Author's Preface**: This fic takes place immediately after the events of _Deathly Hallows_ but COMPLETELY disregards the beyond terrible three pages that were the supposed "Epilogue" which we were tragically left with; yes, the Epilogue (the entitlement we have no choice but to give to it) is nonexistent entirely, without any relation whatsoever to the contexts within this story. That said, please also note that any answers J.K. Rowling has provided about the future of anyone or anything in the HP Universe following DH is in turn void here. Also, as a last important regard, please make note that both the fic's and the first chapter's titles are respectively borrowed from the No Doubt songs of the same name.

**Story Synopsis**: Eighteen-year-old Harry Potter, despite being the celebrated "Chosen One" who'd recently vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at last (not to mention his already preceded glory as the "Boy Who Lived", too), suffers greatly in aftermath of it all. A month and a half has so far passed since that final showdown at Hogwarts, yet STILL_ —_ the young adult wizard cannot sleep, cannot close his eyes without seeing vivid images of that horrific night jog hauntingly across his mind without end. Nevertheless, as Harry now returns to Hogwarts for his rather "belated" seventh year (if that's what one would call it), a certain most unguessable person seizes a shocking spotlight in Harry's traumatized life, and even proves to be the beginning of a new, unimaginable attraction and interest: _Draco Malfoy_!

* * *

Chapter One: "Home Now"

"_If you lived here you'd be home now_." - 'Home Now', No Doubt

Harry woke up shrieking as, by sheer reflex at this point, he sat up in petrified-like fear. Turning his startled head all around his surroundings in his usual spare bedroom at the Burrow, his best friend Ron's house, for a second he still almost found rational the thought that Voldemort had truly Apparated before him and was about to commit a blitz attack — just like in his intensely real-like nightmares. It aggravated Harry how his horrified reaction never failed to spook him any less than each time before, equally terrifying in its vividness every single night. And as a matter of fact, that said it was beginning to take a very serious toll on Harry, too, who hadn't had a good night's sleep or the appetite for a healthy meal since that unforgettable night six weeks past.

Nevertheless, it was the night before Harry, alongside Hermione and Ron of course, would return to Hogwarts once again as a pupil_, _hard to imagine as this somehow seemed to be. Basically, for Harry it just was a matter of great frustration with the aggravating fact that despite full consideration of all he had accomplished (saving the wizarding world and all, notably), none of it merited a suited equivalent to, nor an exemption from, the education he'd receive from Hogwarts as a seventh year ... Not in the slightest, actually. This, whether he liked it or not, had significant meaning for him, particularly where the N.E.W.T.s (the final exam every Hogwarts student took prior to graduating) were concerned, given that his results would be all-deciding in regards to his Auror aspirations. Therefore, whether he liked it or not, when bygones were bygones and reality still insisted to be reality, Harry simply had no other option than to return to Hogwarts. That was all, it was like nothing out of the ordinary at all had happened. He had no say whatsoever in the matter.

So, with such reservations at mind, Harry still hadn't decided whether to be amused or offended that he was subject to the same process of the average Hogwarts student. He supposed it came down to how he simply couldn't understand how basically unthought of, disregarded, maybe even _unappreciated _(as he so felt in his more prideful moments as of late) his historical defeat of Voldemort seemingly stood from the eyes of Minerva McGonagall, the newly-appointed Hogwarts Headmistress who had taught Transfiguration to Harry for six years. How could his extraordinary legacy in restoring peace and safety to the wizarding world after years of Voldemort's unceasing, growing terror truly be a non-contributing factor in the "bigger picture" of everything here?! But again, essentially McGonagall's reasoning didn't really matter, because all in all what it came down to was pretty simple: Harry had another year of "proper" Hogwarts education right in reach of his horizon.

He just rather wished he had a more optimistic outlook going into it. '_Like that's going to happen_,' Harry thought truthfully to himself, taking a long, tired sigh. '_It's bloody ridiculous that I've got to go back when the only reason I didn't go last year was because _I _was the one who had to go through experiences I reckon worse than most people will have in a lifetime just so I could save everyone from Voldemort! Because I was the "Chosen One", right, isn't that what they like to say? Bloody rubbish..._' The discontent teenage boy thought these thoughts as he sat on top Ron's mattress at the Burrow, waiting and listening as Ron scurried from the bathroom to his bedroom back-and-forth in a late scramble to get ready. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were expecting the two, plus Ginny and Hermione, to be ready to head for King's Cross in fifteen minutes sharp, at a quarter to eleven as to arrive at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters with a safe bit of time to spare. Importantly, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley expected that a chaotic parade of people would try to harass Harry at King's Cross, and thereby had decided to rule on the air of caution and ensure their early arrival to the train. Harry had been slightly bemused by this, often absentminded of his state of large celebrity. Harry and Ron, late birds this morning, hadn't even had time to grab a quick spot of breakfast.

"Harry, mate, are you listening to me?" asked a slightly flustered Ron, who was standing before him.

Startled, Harry blinked out of his upsetting reverie to look up at his friend. "Sorry, I reckon I just went blank for a second. What were you saying, Ron?"

Ron shook his head, looking annoyed. "Ginny says to tell you to come and talk to her now, alone, before we leave," Ron repeated, impatiently emphasizing that _yes_, he, too, perceived some not-so-good news awaited from this.

Harry's already low spirits dropped even further in the immediate flash of an instant. His face fell; he couldn't help revealing the utter dread consuming him now. His face a solid puzzlement desperate for Ron's greater explanation, Harry begged, "Did she say what it's about? What do you reckon?"

Ron shrugged at him. "I don't know, but I definitely think you better get down there pretty quick," he suggested, again emphatically hinting he had a bad feeling about this.

Viewing his best friend's pale, grim stare, Harry gulped, feeling his heart skip a beat in its motion, and ultimately just conceded to a blank nod. "... Alright. Then I reckon I'd better go see what's the matter with Ginny," Harry said hoarsely, enunciating his delayed response with an enfeebling sense of fear; indeed, as Harry finished replying in but a hollow, half-audible whisper, his tone was only half-masking his vulnerabilities from show. "Well, wish me luck I guess, Ron."

Turning in his step and feeling embarrassed about the noticeable volume of sweat amounting on his forehead, Harry gulped back utter dread. Spacing out more and more into a confused daze, he forced his suddenly stiffened legs down the flight of stairs leading to Ginny's room. A brief moment later Harry was but footsteps from reaching Ginny's bedroom door, which, tilted open a slight bit, emitted golden sunlight from Ginny's windowsill inside. Again gulping back unknowing, intensely-felt dread, alas Harry, fallen abashed, tapped gently on her door. "Err, Ginny, um ... Ron said you wanted to talk to me before we leave?" Harry tried to play off a normal innocent tone in his polite inquiry, but even so still arrived at the instantaneous conclusion that he'd not sounded convincing.

Not surprisingly Harry's heart again leaped an unnatural few beats ahead as he listened to Ginny jump off her bed and alertly call out to him. "Come in!" she automatically said, her tone dry and plainly unreadable.

Harry's heartbeat spontaneously sped fast as light speed, it felt, as he reluctantly poked the door open and received his first impression of Ginny this apparently special morning. Searching her tall, straight up-standing figure for clues, a flash of a half-second and Harry was in face-to-face proximity with Ginny, who stood rigid five or six feet in front of him. Not a trace of warmth or general happiness to see him was at all present from her end. Right away Harry found himself forced to take excruciating regard to the painfully uncomfortable atmosphere here and now inside Ginny's quaint little bedroom; despite the welcoming sunshine laying in from its wide-open window (her Gryffindor-style curtains pulled aside on either end fully to let the day's beautiful morning light pour in), Harry was pierced by a chilling iciness which suddenly subsided the entire room in the immediately-following moment.

This was not going to be good.

* * *

Draco Malfoy could hardly be described as happy, or even moderately content for that matter, about having to return to Hogwarts yet again. In fact, in the bluntest possible sense Draco was bloody furious about the whole thing. He _had_completed his seventh and final year of wizarding education, thank you very much, even if the Potter-smitten masses didn't like how the school had been run this past year. He couldn't give a rat's arse that Mudbloods hadn't been allowed, and he proudly recalled the glorious memory of being taught The Dark Arts, rather than _Defense Against t_he Dark Arts like was normal, by Professor Carrow in the year just past; the best year Hogwarts ever had no doubt, for the Dark Lord's power had reigned first above all else. To minds few and far that were wise, strong-headed, and dignified by the TRUTH on things (minds which also almost always belonged exclusively to pure-bloods, undoubtedly), that such a beautiful, "cleaned-up" education hierarchy had been so short-lived, fallen just as did the Dark Lord himself, was devastating; see, obviously all the opinions which REALLY should matter would unanimously concur that Draco's final year of education had been perfectly adequate. However, it was no surprise the wizarding world remained brainwashed, blind to the wondrous, TRUE glory of both the Dark Lord and his ideas about re-purifying the wizarding race. Therefore his seventh and final year of Hogwarts education was most frowned upon by the general masses, totally refuted and for all official purposes devoid any value.

To make matters many times worse, his father, Lucius Malfoy of course — most nameable as the arguable highest-regarded among the Dark Lord's finest dedicated followers, respectively — had been arrested and incarcerated to Azkaban Prison almost immediately following the night of Potter's little showdown at Hogwarts (wherein he, Potter, "The Chosen One" supposedly, saved the world from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named). Now Draco would never have his father in his life again. Now because of Potter his father, formerly renowned now newly-defamed Lucius Malfoy, would never be free from the iron bars of his small cell, nor of the far worse torture of the ominous Dementors who guarded the prison … Not for the rest of his life, incredibly. The thought that Potter of all people, Draco's own _personal _worst enemy, was responsible for this made the whole thing about a thousand times more sickening.

'_Potter, bloody famous, Chosen Potter. Good for making life ruddy difficult, not a blasted thing else,_' Draco thought resentfully to himself as he packed his bags the night before his forced return to Hogwarts. Shaking his head in disgusted frustration, Draco started at the unexpected sound of three firm knocks at his door; his mum never disturbed him this late — it was forty-five minutes 'till midnight for Salazar's sake! Rather annoyed (things had been a bit 'frosty' between the two of them for a fortnight now, ever since Narcissa Malfoy flat-out ordered him to return to school as prompted), Draco rolled his eyes and gruffly answered, "What? It's late, Mother."

Narcissa Malfoy practically slammed the door open on her son, and by the thin lips of her grimaced face she clearly did not appreciate his disrespectful attitude. Looking testy but as though she were internally willing herself to remain patient, Narcissa, standing terse and remote in front of her disobedient son, sternly then made her peace. "You're going to school tomorrow, Draco. That's it. And I don't want to hear any fuss about it tomorrow either, you hear?" The threatening stare of her flared-up, eagle-eyed expression silently demanded that Draco thereupon voiced his willing obedience.

But the threat wasn't so great it stopped Draco from huffing at her, or from tossing his hands up in outright aggravation, either. "Mum, what the bloody hell do you reckon I'm doing right now? I'm packing, aren't I? Leave me alone," he retorted right back at her, unhesitating hostility attached to his tone. With a sneer he even sarcastically added, "Anything else you wish to torment me with, Mother Dearest?"

Narcissa frowned furiously at his cheeky backtalk. Not at all humored by Draco's surly demeanor, she left it short and sweet with a deafening hardness to her tone that made his ears pop. "_Mark my words, Draco. _If you are to be uncooperative tomorrow, if you dare give me a hard time and refuse to go, I will expose your dirty little secret to the whole Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters. So think twice before you decide to provide me with any issues tomorrow morning, hear? HEAR?_Draco Malfoy, have I made myself quite clear_?!" she explicitly commanded of him, bordering maliciousness with her every exclaimed word.

Draco glared fearlessly at her, a look of spite completely barren of love or half regard for his mother. "Crystal. Now go, woman, I'm going to sleep! GO!"

But Narcissa merely smiled at him, almost as if endeared by Draco's words, turned right around, and left without further pleasantry; she didn't even sense the need to add exclamation to her exit with a slam of the door, shutting it calmly. Her silent, unaffected response to his vicious reply was a purposeful gloat that she'd won the battle, this Draco knew too well. He'd had eighteen years worth of suffering these types of certain "idiosyncrasies" from his Mum, whom he no more than now loved to the utmost, and whom he indeed felt close as two human creatures could be to ...

_'NOT!' _he laughed guiltlessly to himself. _'My God, I effing hate that goddamn hag.'_

* * *

Harry unexpectedly found himself jumping right out of his peaceful sleep in the middle of the night, tossing and turning to a startle. Left to breathless gasps, in spite of great alarm he slowly sat up and removed his tangled cover of bedsheets. Harry then froze, suddenly terrified that he may have awoken one of his roommates. But looking around best he could despite fairly constrained night vision (none in his dormitory having used a nightlight of any sort tonight, nor had they once ever in six years at Hogwarts, notably), everyone across the board, from Seamus to Ron alike, remained fast-asleep. Quietly exhaling a sigh filled by deep relief, Harry remained sitting up nonetheless, fidgeting a slight bit; strange as it was, not one bone in his entire body felt the need to return to rest. Based on the moon and its position in the night sky out the colorful stained-glass window by his bed, he guessed it must've been about midnight, which meant he'd been sleeping a grand two hours. But yet still, Harry for whatever reason was wide-awake.

Thinking, he wasn't sure what to do about it. Harry certainly knew the potential danger too well that posed from abandoning one's own Common Room after hours. Needless to say he'd learned THAT the hard way — many, many times, in fact. And yet, it somehow did not feel all too surprising that such an idea was the very first thing on Harry's mental list of practical things of which he could do. It seemed always the natural prospect of Harry's mind to leave the Gryffindor Common Room and go off somewhere whenever confused, indecisive moments like these abruptly surmounted him. And predictable indeed, it was but a solemn few soundless moments before Harry crept sneakily out of his bed, Invisibility Cloak equipped at hand, and descended to the Common Room before exiting into the forbidden passageways of the castle through the trapdoor in the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Safely disillusioned under the protection of his father's cloak, Harry began treading forth quietly in careful, intently subtle steps. After all, he obviously remained too well aware that the Invisibility Cloak would not extend to also make him soundproof. Frustratingly, however, once finished navigating just a short few corridors, Harry found himself nevertheless letting out a long, deep dissatisfied breath of defeat. Where was he to go?! He stared aimlessly down one way, then aimlessly down the next. For a half-moment agitated out of his own directionless frustration, Harry then was spontaneously hit by the urge to ascend to the highest level of the Astronomy Tower, where at he would gaze into the night sky horizon and forget all things else.

Yet again, Harry at once found himself encapsulated by another overwhelming sigh of utter relief tonight, now that he'd finally decided on a plausible plan of action of course, that opposed to continuing his pointless, not to mention very risky, traipse up and down corridors. Shielding far more self-assertion now, thus forth Harry changed directions and, treading softly but certainly, then, of course talented, made his successful move forward ("unnoticeableness" ever running his purpose, no doubt), heading straight thereby for the Astronomy Tower.

And as he prodded forth in direct route for the Astronomy Tower, a swift alteration, he was in fact actually beginning to feel the welcoming buzz of a thrill run through him, the rushing making the hairs on his arm stand up. Sensing nostalgia pour over him, all the countless good 'ol times that he, Ron, and Hermione had dodged purposefully around the castle on one adventure or another, it surprised Harry in how good it felt. The greatness of the flighty-like feeling made him unconsciously speed up a bit in pace, more intent as his newfound excitement grew and grew. Indeed almost reaching the point of rashness in his now-intensified scurry, on a couple of occasions Harry half-tripped in his path. But noisy or not noisy, in end neither Filch nor any Hogwarts staff member at all discovered or halted his excitable new adventure. He seemed to be luckily free to tread as he wanted, immune the fear of the sudden startled look from an unexpected treader ...

But once Harry approached the passageway to the spiraling stairs leading up the tower, the somewhat "surreal" high of his began to majorly recede as he started ascending the staircase. He in all actuality found himself running fast out-of-breath as a matter of fact. And ready and impatient as ever, as he made an anxious race to the top Harry more than itched to reach his final destination ...

And then, just as Harry reached the final step before arriving at the top balcony of the Astronomy Tower, suddenly in the corner of his eyes Draco Malfoy appeared.

* * *

**Author's Endnote**: That's Chapter One! What will happen when Harry and Draco accidentally encounter each other at the top of the Astronomy Tower? Stay tuned ... Please read and review :).


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: "Comforting Lie"

"_Can't get this taste out of my mouth; swallow it down, pretend ... A comforting lie can't last_." — "Comforting Lie", No Doubt

Draco, leaning his arms over the edge of the balcony barrier carelessly, was rightfully taken by a harsh startle when he tilted sideways and saw, from just the corner of his eye no less, none other than _Harry Potter_! Yes, to Draco's pure shock, his greatest rival, bloody "Chosen" Potter of all people, was just now joining him here at the topmost level of the Astronomy Tower, interrupting his unworried reverie. Like an animal heeding to immediate defense reflexes, Draco turned immediately into face-to-face gaze with an equally surprised-looking Potter. However, as the supposed "Chosen One" acknowledged Draco's unanticipated presence, he for a brief second flinched back upon sight, and heaved a slight yet noticeable gasp that flew unintentionally out of his mouth. This unguarded vulnerability of Potter's enabled Draco to pronounce forward a colorful, fearless-APPEARING smirk at his all-time ultimate opponent...

Still nevertheless a bit anxious and panicked at sudden realization of Potter's untimely presence, though, Draco felt himself suffering a mental blockage of indecision, which was in turn slowing down his reflexes in this rather surreal-like moment. Bringing himself back to unhindered confidence with a new brusquer composure (or at least trying to no less), he thought shakily to himself, '_Ready or not, don't let it show, don't let your guard down...C'mon, Draco, NO, get off it - bloody don't let it show! You can't let filthy bloody Potter get to you_!'

Meanwhile, Potter, however, was not wasting a moment's hesitation. He quickly refocused his attention, utilized a restrengthened, rawer self-composure instead, and assumed his own confrontational, seemingly unafraid guise. Placing a firm fist at his hip very inquiring-like, he successfully beat Draco to the punch, for the Boy-Who-Lived practically raced to speak first. "Malfoy! What are you doing up here?!" he demanded accusingly, his jaw shaking with tense anxiety.

Draco snickered rudely, looking utterly undismayed. "Ha! I could certainly ask the same of you, Potter, hmm, filthy half-blood?" he hissed back through clenching teeth.

At this, Potter understandably could not suppress a momentary look of obvious cringe. Swallowing the little bit of spit in his dryish, near-cottonmouth state, he first forced back a rather painful gulp. But then, looking reaffirmed back up at Draco, Potter outright fired a scornful look built of near actual _gloat, _believe as one may not (so very out-of-character, no doubt), and resurfaced above water once again. "Maybe. But regardless, it IS you, though, Malfoy, so I'd definitely say, and you may even agree with me on this, that your behavior is far likelier to involve a bit of foul play, eh? Yep, in fact we'd all reckon something like that, I think, about ANYTHING that includes your input. Wouldn't you say so, Malfoy, HMM, bigoted 'pure-blood' as you wish?" Harry's face had rapidly switched into a smirking expression of guiltless delight just now, knowing he'd done pretty well.

As a result, Draco looked immediately far beyond affronted. As he sharply raised his gaze into a scowling response (and while no less keeping his arms terse as ever in their stiff fold at his chest too, remarkably enough), Draco Malfoy threw back tauntingly, "Stupid fool, Potter. I'm quite sure you would be so privileged to know what my business is here, now wouldn't you, 'Chosen boy', eh? Ha! But if you actually expect me, the proud and loyal dignified Slytherin and Malfoy that I am, to actually submit to any such demands of yours, I reckon you've gone ruddy mad ... But then again, it IS you, idiotic half-blood Potter after all!" Upon finishing this clever rebuke, Draco immediately shot the Gryffindor opponent in face of him - oh-so-famous (or _infamous_, as Draco much preferred) Harry Potter to be exact, whom of all by far remained his unarguable very worst enemy, of this there rested no doubt - an unyielding look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

Potter once again straight-out flinched right back a bit in his highly offended surprise. Eyes uncontrollably bulging with focus and alarm, the 'Boy-Who-Lived' thought fast for an even better hand of words to totally stump and, as a hopeful eventual end, scare away Malfoy. Proctoring forth his head aggressively, Harry scoffed unnaturally loud at his confronting Slytherin rival right then before, and with a tremendous show of furious expression at that, turning his head to the side and down to the ground so that he could spit in disgust for Malfoy. "God, Malfoy, you make me cringe like no one else can," Potter finally iterated through tightly-clenched teeth, his unnerved, agitated state making his words tighten up until he in fact was barely understandable.

Obviously uncaring (and not to mention far from surprised) by Potter's spat-out words as they recoiled at him full-speed on, Draco delicately readjusted his arms' terse fold at his chest. Unwavering in his stiff composure, he muttered outward a curious, sly bout of small, yet somehow unceasingly vibrating, laughter. "Oh, Potter, for Salazar's Sake, you don't really reckon that your bratty little pouting has any effect on me, do you? Come now, Gryffindor git, I'd think even you would know better than that ..." Draco daringly moved along unabashed in his speech, prideful of the every surly word of which he used to demean Potter with. "Now, go along half-blood, puny little Potter. That's right, don't waste any more of my time, Potter - Away with you I said, Mudblood-lover, _SHOO_!" Draco couldn't have sounded any bolder than in the sheerness of this volatile moment, actually having the nerve to demand his infamous foe straight away, regardless that he had no real standing to do so whatsoever.

His enemy's eyebrows rose dramatically at this, all the way up into the crease of anxious wrinkles at the top of his forehead. Potter looked by now long-lost of patience, seemingly amazed himself by how furious he'd just been made upon this. He could not believe even Malfoy's cheek tonight! How dare he! That was it, (seemingly) enough was at last enough for Potter at this point, for then the visibly agitated Gryffindor boy threw up both his hands in frustration, and then startled Draco when he strutted a sudden few unexpected steps toward him. Smiling with satisfaction at Draco's bothered state while simultaneously pulling his wand out from the subtle inside of his cloak, Potter raised the weapon straight at Draco with uncompromising measurement. Light arising fumingly in his eyes, Potter tossed out hostile words utmost confidently, declaring, in fact, with urgent warning attached at tone, "Malfoy, take a hike, or I'll drop a hex so great on you 'reckon you'll find yourself in more than one piece about a second from now..."

Potter, grinning evilly, chortled at his own epithet, bedazzled by the thought of actually making that happen to Draco. Draco took a couple steps back, clearly taken by Potter's threat (at least to some degree). Obviously unable to conceal it in any way, it took a moment before Draco was able to calm, and only gradually then curl his lips back into a smug grin. His arms, still as ever in their fold at his chest, looked impossibly stiff. The contention in the air felt close to fiery-like - _literally_. "You're a funny man, Potter." And yet his voice remained still a trickled star of doubtfulness. Either way, nonetheless the forsaken Gryffindor boy in front of him so far definitely was NOT joking. Draco, fazed (and so far out from his normal, very particular tightly-composed character indeed), could only blink as one huge moment of hesitancy came right over him. His next move still ever-undecided, Draco looked stupidly as though petrified, incredibly, before with an alerting shake he blinked again, back into his senses, and made a fierce look back at the enemy on hand...

But it was no dice, because Potter had very well seen Draco's weakened state, and so his finally-returned fierceness mattered little. Grinning madder by the second now, Potter jerked forward his wand closer at Draco no less for effect, which worked, given his Slytherin rival did jolt right back upon this. Opening his mouth calmly just a slight to speak, Potter couldn't suppress a half-chuckle prior to making his empowered, succinct speech loud-and-clear. "Malfoy, I'm warning you...Don't think I won't. Go, NOW, or face the penalty, you slimy Slytherin git!" And when Malfoy still remained stiff as a statue even yet, Potter violently raged forward his wand with ever-increasing willingness, exhaling out some steam, and began reciting the heated incantation, "_Petrificus-_"

Draco dodged sideways just in time, moving as if defeated on this instantaneous cue, and seriously raised up his trembling hands in surrender (for at very LEAST the present moment, anyway). "...Fine, Potter, have it your way then! You win, bloody already, you reckon?!" he bellowed out in total humiliation, utter fear hopelessly unconcealed.

Potter's eyes bulged open-wide; he appeared indisputably shocked by his enemy's fast acquiescence. Nodding acceptingly no less, the advantaged Gryffindor sighed composedly and said, "Well, then what have you? GO ALREADY!"

The unexpected scream jolted Draco back even more obviously this time. Looking off, and wanting to bury his head in the sand with all that magnitude of shame contained in him, no doubt, Malfoy made sure not to catch Potter's eye as he scurried off, reversing in a swift jump back to the staircase at top of the passageway which he'd previously led himself up. He couldn't remember another time in his life where he'd hated himself as much as he did right now, cringing infuriation with his every downward step. "Bloody hell, GOD already!" he muttered at one point such senseless gibberish as this in his race downstairs, back to the castle's main levels - His one pitiful, hopelessly designated escape. Draco would surely never tell anyone ever about this night's drama, or (especially) of how it had, by end, successfully relinquished him of his own personal liberty...

_Not ever. _And yet...At some point Draco could not mistake something: something about the scene tonight had somehow caused the certain scent to come, that single 'one-of-kind' warmth to fill his "below-the-waist" regions; something in that smile, in the glinting at large intent in Potter's expression, _yes_, shot a bullet-striking electrical prick throughout his veins, over and over, too...

AND, he, Draco, in utter dread suspected - maybe not for the first time, either.

* * *

Harry felt left confounded after Malfoy's unpredicted, very "surprise" race out of dodge. Standing proud and tall at the top of the Astronomy Tower's full length's reach, he nonetheless the victor felt mixed regards about what had just occurred with Malfoy. Certainly it'd come as a totally undetectable shock, Malfoy's most unexpected interruption at the most untimely arrival. Harry surprised himself actually, in that he'd at first been so far-gone-startled, so admittedly intimidated by the sudden confrontational encounter, and yet now he'd somehow successfully vanquished his infamous Slytherin foe straight away. Never would he have thought things would unfold in such a way...

And yet, though the entire thing had him bewildered from get (to say the least, anyway), when he thought it through more thoroughly and more details came arising, then Harry truthfully was the most bewildered of all. One particular stunning, unnaturally dark insight of his deep mind was a very thing which proved to nearly vaporize his own rational senses, however: it started as he spontaneously was struck to, with thunderous avidity at that, recollect the final battle at Hogwarts that unforgettable night of a still recent-past month, most specifically the memory of saving Malfoy from a certain terrible death in the Room of Requirement. It still awed Harry, easily, the detailed images which resurfaced cleanly from the event right back onto the frame of his mindset...

_He was riding atop a miraculously summoned-forth broomstick, his one and only hope for survival; he was just barely hanging on for dear life as an ocean of flames grew their blaze literally mere feet below him, _here_, wherein everything happening was but the latest unpredictable occurrence - this was the Room of Requirement. All the while, it was Draco Malfoy of all guessable people, incredibly enough, who simultaneously held onto him desperately from right behind him, riding along horrified with his arms wrapped firmly around Harry's torso. Ironically enough, it'd been no one but Draco's own comrade, vile Crabbe, who'd unleashed this _Fiendfyre_ upon them, subsequently destroying the room into Hellfire; or least so it felt to Harry in these monumental seconds anyway, like in true Hell indeed, as the summoned flames continued, obviously, to threaten sudden death upon them more every adjourning second..._

Then, Harry, entrapped in his own horrific recollection, was pulled into an actual distraction, for a first, from the full-front terror of the memory, redirected to a (logically) beyond trivial detail in the grander scheme of things: _Oh, how good it'd felt to feel Malfoy's strong, warm arms wrapped around him; oh, how it had sent prickles up his spine and butterflies into his stomach for a flighty second, coupling, amazingly, with the very grave state of things to leave Harry extra, _extra-_breathless...Unbelievable, it was_! But no way could it have been real...no, not that he'd possibly enjoyed the feeling of Malfoy touching, embracing him tightly around his waist, so much so that it stood out as a hallmark to the memory; no such way whatsoever, the nonsense of the idea alone did little but absolutely disgust Harry to no favorable end. Certainly he, Harry Potter, had NOT felt a sexual arousal from the presence of, from all insane people to choose from, Draco Malfoy-

His thoughts suddenly overran him indignant. '_DESPICABLE that would so make me, I totally reckon..._NO BLOODY WAY!' Harry thought incredibly to himself, angry with his own (apparently) natural instinct's physical inclination. The mere thought of it was going to nettle Harry to no end, undoubtedly. In fact, unable to take the inner humiliation of it, Harry vehemently shook his head in rejection, doing his very best to shake the thought entirely off.

* * *

**Author's Endnote**: ...And so things begin. Please read and review as you enjoy :D.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – Artificial Sweetener

"_I'm only sure that I'm not sure...redo, undo, I'm stuck on this page_." - "Artificial Sweetener", No Doubt

Harry immediately raced back to bed once he'd sufficiently waited for Malfoy to be safely away. Quickly returning to Gryffindor Tower without hinder, he sat lying underneath his bedsheets still wide-awake, his mind a puzzle of conflicting thoughts. Not only did Harry suffer wondering the totally bamboozling possibility that he'd been sexually attracted to his very worst enemy, either. For once at hand, the troublesome topic shortly afterward caused him to simmer right back to his, err, well "memorable" conversation with Ginny before leaving for King's Cross. The memory was a mouthful to swallow, to say the least, as his highly intense-proved encounter earlier today had definitely not been a highlight 'start-of-day' for him.

First off, Ginny had instantly gone in ready to throw punches. "Harry, I want you to know that it's no secret to any one of us here, least of all me, how you left me in the dark for a whole entire year! Blimey, you must've forgotten that your petrified-worried girlfriend, who you CLAIM to love, even existed! Then you just come stomping back all oblivious-acting, like I'm supposed to totally forget all the awful things you did!" And at this even angrier, she then pointed an uncontrollably shaky, accusing finger right at him, and then before he could blink one second longer she was already viciously adding, "Well, Harry James Potter, if you think you can just go ahead and treat me like that, well, well then you've bloody lost your mind, I'll tell you!" And just like that had the entire conversation continued; meaninglessly, really, for that matter, as Ginny all but disregarded Harry's every calm, apologetic response with her every latest malicious interruption, with more absolutely infuriated words.

In any case, the next morning when Harry entered his first Transfiguration lesson at nine-thirty sharp, he felt so unbelievably tired. It'd obviously been a heavily sleepless night all things considered, and it definitely didn't help that the Slytherins would be joining them today, for that definitely included Malfoy. Pressing on his mind as the matter was after all, it became so much so that he'd sat down but a moment and was already sweating profusely on his forehead. At this rate Harry hoped he wouldn't just die of embarrassment the moment his all-time foe stalked right in...

Strutting unmistakably through the threshold of Professor McGonagall's so far only half-filled classroom, forever-infamous Draco Malfoy looked extra-smug today. Alas...It was about ten 'till at this point. Harry, feeling his roughening knuckles tremble and harden, first turned away a little bit sharp, accidentally acting too quickly. Luckily, however, Ron and Hermione, even Malfoy for that matter, did not much notice, it seemed. Nevertheless, standing perfectly straight up, ego-drunken Malfoy vaunted his shoulders up and down a rather noticeable bit (probably on purpose; it was Malfoy after all), nose straight up in the air, and boasted his pompous way to a far-off seat with Pansy Parkinson. The mean Slytherin foe seemed, Harry rather thought, to intently evade his eye, almost as though desperate to show his own personal make-way would not at all be swayed by the bothersome memory of their untimely meeting the night before. But Harry himself actually suspected his rival's eternal ill-bidding tried much too hard to overcompensate itself today. And for a most splintered of seconds, this humorous notion actually made Harry grin meekly to himself.

Then suddenly came crying out a taunting scoff from straight behind him. Zoning not without calamitous purpose, it deafened in its arrival, right into the perfect range of Harry's earshot exactly. "All right there, Potter? Not so much the golden boy anymore, eh? The only thing to remark about you being ''chosen" now is how they've CHOSEN to send your arse right back to school with the rest of us, right slimy half-blood? Haha..." Malfoy seemed to seethe at Harry stronger than usual, much so as a matter of fact; yes...for sure the drawling acidity always inflected in his tone regardless was today unreal in its severity. And such came of course without coincidence (this none could doubt, obviously).

Pansy mindlessly burst into laughter, of course would have no matter what her beloved Draco had said. But before even Harry could himself react, Ron had already stormed right up from his seat, raising a furiously-summoned (and hence simply UNPREVENTABLE) fist so very fast curled into a tight knot, straight at Malfoy, threatening as ever. Harry, who too was to say the least flustered, got halfway up, and, not wanting his best mate to find himself in big trouble, he held out a warning hand at Ron. "Don't bother with them, Ron, he's not worth it. Sometimes a git will always be the same ruddy tired git. THAT Malfoy's been living proof of for a long time already...Has he not, Ron?" he assured loudly, smirking at the reward of an unhappy-looking Malfoy.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked up with grave concern, hopping nervously in her seat as she urgently told Ron, "Yes, Ronald, please just ignore him."

Ron stared Malfoy down, an invigorated stare of pure hatred which his slithery foe no doubt returned him. Then, still glaring, Ron spat out a large dose of some self-righteous poison from (evidently) deep buried within him. "Piss off, Malfoy. Go entertain your ruddy brainless girlfriend over there, I reckon why don't you," he seethed, pointing over at Pansy in the process.

Leaning his upper-body a stretch of an inch or two back, Malfoy - conveying perfectly an astounding perhaps _relaxation_ with the scene before him, somehow - braggingly returned Ron's extreme surliness with but a bright smile that, seemingly innocent, was wide and pure of actual conceit. Ron felt his cheeks uncontrollably contort to a sharp pinch. (Not to mention, of course, that this uncannily ill-intended smile left the trio glaring STILL, but at just one of countless many other equally writhen gestures tied exclusively to the infamous sarcastic wit of none other but Draco Malfoy.) Indeed grinning menacingly forward, Malfoy, dead straight-shooter specifically for Weasley in this everlasting rivaled moment, then folded his arms delicately at his chest before, chin proudly raised, saying, "Ha. You entertain me Weasley, you and your pathetic attempts at intimidation tact, that is. Come now, Pansy; let's leave Weasley alone before he squeals from embarrassing himself too much." And huffing with boisterous laughter Malfoy arrogantly strode off in the opposite direction, Parkinson of course sycophantically mimicking his lead.

Shaking his head in unresolved anger, a rather reluctant Ron slowly fell back into his seat. His shoulders fell and descended in their tenseness only after a moment of long sigh in which Ron fought (half-unwillingly, no less) to bug off his own unavoidable frustration. Harry, though touched by his friend's loyalness, disliked its clear alteration on his best mate's mood. Smiling appreciatively at Ron, he gestured a dismissive wave of hand. "Don't fret, Ron. I reckon Malfoy'll for sure be brought down once he realizes how drastically unimportant his existence now is 'round these parts." And with a twinkling flash of Harry's vivid green eyes, an affectionate gesture saved just for his best mate, Ron seemed somewhat reassured.

Hermione nodded agreeably, placidly adding, "And plus he'll have nothing much to gloat about when everyone else shines the spotlight on all THREE of us for a change, eh, boys? That is how it'll surely pan out, after all, given our newfound, exalted celebrity, hmm. Heaven knows..." Finishing in a whisper, Hermione surveyed the boys' attending gazes and winked both their ways insinuatingly.

Right then Professor McGonagall came strolling half-rushed beyond the threshold, closing the classroom's door behind her with a firm shut. The chatter that had increasingly amounted across the room as they'd awaited their professor at once ceased without question. The vicinity had now become immediately soundless needless a hinter; the entire room all the sudden Professor McGonagall's ideal audience, they humbled to her mighty intimidating presence. Each one among the dozen pupils present knew too well the authority which McGonagall's custody commanded, now and permanently (as was made EXTRA-specific and extra-obvious since day one and all, notably). Thus, every one of their glances refocused undividedly on her, their most stern just-arrived professor. Turning 'front-and-center' in dead face of them, McGonagall furrowed two sleek eyebrows in careful spectacle of her newest unit of Senior-Advanced Transfiguration students; it was as if she meant to form a decided first impression, a preliminary evaluation so to speak on their overall rating. All her students jumped a second in their seat once notice of this became more obvious.

Nevertheless, intimidating or not, Professor McGonagall did finally speak. First clearing her throat cleanly before saying anything, with a 'matter-of-fact' grace melting in her tone, only then McGonagall at last proceeded to say (following yet another startled jump in each of her students' seats, by the way!), "Hmm...Very well, then. It's nice to see so many of the promising faces who I knew with certainty contained the potential to adequately reach this advance level of study, if, that is, they were so determined." And yet, by the time she was finished speaking, Professor McGonagall was sporting an actual genuine smile. She nodded approvingly and made the rest of her way to her desk, where she took a stack of neat-looking handouts (surely their syllabus, they could easily presume) in her hand.

The trio exchanged apprehensive glances at McGonagall's words, each equably unsure of what to expect next from their evidently well-energized professor today. She seemed to smile somewhat sensitively at them though, rather unusual as it was, and as if only to reassure their chalk-white, apprehended faces at that. Raising her voice appropriately to the full reach of the room, McGonagall, ever-stern, began saying, "Good, very good. Students, I will not withhold from you the truth at the heart of the matter regarding Senior-Advanced Transfiguration. It is NOT easy going forward - Not at all actually, my friends. It will take the absolute full engine of your deepest dedication to learning the art unbound the curse of outside interference or personal reservation. Avid study, endless practice, those are your precious vital keys to master if you are to succeed at this level. Your N.E.W.T.s exam will be far more difficult than your O.W.L.s one, believe me. Therefore, upon reaching this exact venture in time, I ask that you exercise your stirring minds for a moment and decide whether pursuing this disdain-filled academic ardor, sad as it is, is truly your heart's wish. Otherwise here, I freely offer you this single opportunity to part ways now without judgment or question."

McGonagall's firmly-laid, studious eye on them did not deter for a second the whole time that she spoke her emphatic words at peace. Unsurprisingly, thus, all her students looked instantaneously captivated in the ultimatum of her words; a few made exasperated bracing glances, some gasped unintentionally out, others jolted a half-centimeter (but in a beyond noticeable way so they felt, in their embarrassment) in their seats. It was pure amazement...But no one left, nor did even one among them make the inclined look or gesture to speak. Only silence, great, imperishable and all-unseeing, remained to last, elongating amidst an already pervaded atmosphere -

And without a trace ended with Professor McGonagall's due continuation, orderly directing their attentions, "Very well then, students. I want to begin our course today by first dividing you all into pairs. Whomsoever you are randomly grouped with will be your assigned study partner for the rest of term. In order to best simplify the tricky curriculum of Senior-Advanced Transfiguration for each of you, this way you will at least have a study buddy to practice with. Now, let's see." Professor McGonagall scanned two fully-alert eyes from one side of her body of pupils to the other, deciding, and said promptly, "Very good. There appears to be thirteen of us, including myself that is. Therefore, one-by-one I think I'll assign each of you a number between one and six, and then you'll each convene to the pupil whose number is the same as yours."

Thereupon McGonagall began on the left side of the room, pointing one-by-one at each of them before reciting, as stated, an assigned number for the every consecutive pupil that followed (_1, 2, 3, 4_...). Harry, uninterested, dully heard her say "3!"' after his name before moving straight on to Ron, who sat to the right of him ("4!"). While he remained holding up his head with a lazy fist propped underneath his chin, in his disengaged state Harry started at the sound of sudden alarm in McGonagall's tone a quiet couple moments later. "All right then, students? No need to putter I assure you; please rise and convene into your selected pair!" A silent, suspenseful pause of total inaction from all of them seemed to have become quickly apparent to their purposeful professor. Since no one had stood up to find their appropriate partner, Professor McGonagall then, impatiently half-scolding them, gestured both her hands up in serious indication that they got moving. As if bolstered to livelihood upon the immensity of the stern cue, it took but the time for their professor's eyelids to blink open once more that her students there acted; indeed, by given wide survey, it appeared definite her roll of students this hour had instantaneously caught the hint, because they were all now rising up and immediately performing appropriately. (Thankfully, they as a collective still knew way better than to test McGonagall's patience, no doubt about THAT!)

Harry, underwhelmed with McGonagall's new teaching style, reluctantly rose slowly out of his seat, stared around, and found most everyone had already assembled into two's. Confused for a moment in being unsure where his "study buddy" was, he almost fell paralyzed to the bone when he heard a disgustingly unmistakable voice call irritably out, "Mates, which one of you is also '3'?"

Harry was partnered with Draco effing Malfoy. Yes, to his beyond wholehearted doom he was made to partner with his biggest foe for the entire term. Harry's face instantly sunk, that in simultaneity to becoming cold with tremulous-like Goosebumps, and it took him what felt like an incredibly prolonged second before he could force himself to turn around and look dreadfully at Malfoy. Harry glanced off for Ron and Hermione, practically begging for sympathy with his devastated face, only to see that they, on the other hand, were happily interacting in their groups. Hermione was with Terry Boot, Ron with Parvati Patil. '_Lucky them_,' he thought sorely to himself, before alas returning to face Malfoy with great reluctance.

At this exact juncture, Draco Malfoy's face lit up in flinching shock. His eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, eyebrows raised sharply; he couldn't help it from showing, apparently too hard-hit by realization of this pulverizing fact immediately problematic before him. Shaking his head in revulsion a weak bit, Malfoy returned a whispering utterance himself, "No, no. It can't be, not you, Potter, _nooooo_..."

It nonetheless was loud enough for Professor McGonagall and the whole class to hear, whom Harry and Malfoy now noticed were all seated and watching them, some more curiously than others. Intolerant of any smallest hint whatsoever of conflict being provoked within the walls of her classroom, Professor McGonagall pointed a dead-firm, serious finger at them both. Then, lips thinning as they always did when students made her angry, in a stern tone of voice McGonagall ordered, "NONE OF IT, you two! Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you put one toe out of line and I'll have you both crossed off the roster - NOW SEAT YOURSELVES."

They did not need to be told twice. Visibly disgruntled, in spite the two unwilling boys took two empty seats side-by-side in the back row. Each sitting unhappily with their arms folded stiffly at chest, they gestured their heads respectfully up at McGonagall and put their full focus back on her. They looked miserable as ever nonetheless.

Their hawk-eyed professor nodded acceptingly either way, though. Then, first clearing her throat, McGonagall ascended from her seat before once again taking stance in front of them, the stack of presumed-to-be syllabuses held in her hand. "Ready then, class? All right. Here, I'm going to pass out your syllabus for this semester." She proceeded to file through three rows of students, handing out one syllabus each. Harry definitely didn't like the fazed, daunted look on his peers as they held it before them and started reading the text in length. Professor McGonagall at last reached the two of them. Further warning them with a disapproving disciplinary glance, much less politely she merely hung two syllabuses in front of them that they had to independently reach to grasp.

Harry, slightly taken aback and suffice to say rather intimidated, now felt definitively 'in line with' (so to speak), as well as fearful of, the order of Minerva McGonagall. When she had at last returned to the front of the room to regain their attention, to a bit of surprise rather, Professor McGonagall merely clapped her hands together and then very simply said, "All right then, class - _review, review, review_! Review the content of the syllabus together in your groups, and scrupulously too I recommend, for at the end of class today you will be quizzed on it."

All of her students looked equally surprised, never ever having taken a "syllabus quiz" before (nor had most of them even had a clue such a thing existed). Everyone exchanged puzzled glances all across the room before embarrassedly returning to look at their own partners; each of them had individually suspected right away that they were the only one totally oblivious to the completely unusual concept (at least by Hogwarts standards anyway) of being quizzed on their syllabus of all things! Harry shuddered, in realization that his first day in Senior-Advanced Transfiguration, courtesy McGonagall of course, was proving more obscure, more surreal, and (needless to say) more unpromising every second...

Both with the face of someone at the last ends of their deathbed, Potter and Malfoy miserably took the syllabus and silently began perusing its content. The two looked positively intent on avoiding the other's eye for the greatest amount of time possible, it seemed sure. Hearing one another change pages twice, at last the two had no choice but to look up and face each other eye-to-eye. First to initiate (yet still reluctant as can be nonetheless) was Malfoy technically, who sufficed to grunt his partner's attention, and when that didn't work he cleared his throat loudly and indicatively. "_So_."

An uncomfortable few seconds passed by. "So, what?" Harry retorted uneagerly, in a tone sour with annoyance. Feeling guilt, Harry wondered whether he could've perhaps started off on a better foot than that. "What, then? What do you reckon'll be on the quiz, Malfoy?" he finished in a better attempt to sound at least half patient.

"I dunno, Potter. I guess we better go through it again and make highlights on the most important parts," replied Malfoy dryly.

Harry blew out some steam, exhaling unhappily in overall discontentment with this setup. "Fine then. Why don't you work on the first half while I do the second? It'll be quickest that way," Harry suggested diplomatically.

Again looking opposite of each other, the boys took out a quill and began their dull busywork. Draco and Harry each underlined and circled what they hoped were the details they'd likely be quizzed on. Harry finished first, and when he looked up he was surprised to see how studious Malfoy looked as he, too, finished up.

When Malfoy looked up and saw Harry glancing at him, he frowned, shrugged, and said irritably, "What?"

Harry scowled, and then just rolled his eyes. "Nothing," he retorted, sighing before he could even add, "Here, I reckon we should look over each other's outlines."

"Okay," a very clearly bored Draco mumbled.

And so they did. When Harry took his first look at Malfoy's outline, he felt embarrassed that his rival was holding his. Demonstrating great organization, Malfoy had underlined key points and circled seemingly every one of the important dates listed. Come to think, Harry wasn't really sure what kind of student Malfoy was. He'd never paid it much thought, other than when Malfoy was busy throwing the blind favoritism he received from Snape in everyone's faces. Paranoid now, Harry snuck a glance over at Malfoy when he wasn't looking to see the expression on his face as looked over his admittedly inferior outline. Not surprisingly, it was just a moment or two later, and just as Harry had dreaded -

Malfoy looked back up at Harry with what, at kindest, was a visibly underwhelmed, overall lacking expression. Clearly delighted, though, to see Harry's reddening face in response, Malfoy smirked at him. "So what do you think, Potter? Good?"

Harry half-glanced sideways, nodding uncomfortably. "Yes, looks good."

Instantly Draco beamed, "Why thank you, Harry!" before resuming the infamous devilish identity that could only be that of Draco Malfoy, slyly adding on, "I just thought I'd give you a few pointers on yours, though, because as you can see-"

But the booming sound of McGonagall's stern voice flew right over him. "All right, students, time check! Ten more minutes of study time, then we're going to go ahead with the test! Understood?"

The whole class mumbled out sudden alerted gasps, automatically stricken by the sudden forewarning. Draco himself started in his seat. Looking stead-on, Draco swiftly turned back at Potter, alarmed, and said, "I'd hurry up then, Potter! _Looky here_! Looks like my notes then, Gryffindor, remain highly suggested-if you intend on passing that is." Draco figured that he himself might receive grief from McGonagall if they didn't both garner success from their as-instructed cooperation effort; so, sufficiently paranoid as can be, he felt the urge to ensure his enemy passed nonetheless. Potter, fallen prideless, succumbed and moved his eyes over to Malfoy's superior list of notes, obviously knowing that, whether he liked it or not, they could be his single-possible lifesaver today.

Draco not surprisingly smirked-a paining arrogant storm to look at, just as a note-upon immediate sight of this. 'Hehe...Puny little Potter all embarrassed. Just look at him there.' The usual never-nice thoughts ran fleetly over him, making him smile evilly. As always the mental array served fulfilling his ever-yet unscrupulous mind's twisted desire for "mean", sometimes even borderline "demented"; and yet, always, somehow, this unscrupulous desire turned into an UNguilty pleasure for him.

"And TIME!" McGonagall announced loudly. "Put your notes away, students. NOW, please, yes, that's the ticket."

Harry came to a start at the sound of his professor's deafening voice. At least to Harry it'd felt deafening, anyway, wrapped up in his last-minute studying and all. Raising his head back up in a painful flinch, Harry's dreading eyes met his professor's, and watched as she returned to her desk, opened a filing cabinet, and removed a neat stack of what were surely copies of their imminent quiz. His eyes watered. The supportive fist underneath his chin which allowed his head's upwards gazing, trembled troublesomely. Actually, in fact, for a dramatic moment anyway, Harry couldn't think of a single occasion where he'd felt this unprepared for an exam...

Harry's fingers trembled pendulously on his desk as McGonagall placed the quiz flat in front of him and moved on. He didn't even want to look, knowing he was doomed for sure. Once he finally did, before Harry's eyes was but one page of parchment listed by twelve consecutive questions. Needless to say it was a big relief for Harry that McGonagall had been surprisingly merciful, and that the questions were multiple-choice answers. Taking a deep sigh of breath, Harry aligned the tip of his quill on the first question, "_Which statement is NOT Accurate of Senior Advance Transfiguration's Exclusive Readjusted Grading Scale?" _His eyes bulged with surprise when he realized that he actually knew the answer! Scanning each of the choices, yes unbelievably, Harry knew immediately that the answer was 'B'. Question 2. Again Harry was amazed - he knew this one, too. 'A', obviously, he didn't even have to look at the other choices.

He couldn't believe it: all he was doing was taking a deep breath from question to question, and it was working! He finished the test in what felt like no time, and felt good about it, too. Looking up, Harry figured everyone else would similarly be finishing up, but the glances everywhere across the room told a different story: excluding himself, Malfoy, and Hermione (obviously), the people all around him wore frustrated, stressed-out looks. They, apparently, were not as eased by it as Harry was.

'_Blimey, I really thought it wasn't too bad_...' Harry thought about it to himself, somewhat mystified. But then it clicked-Malfoy's notes. Malfoy's notes had saved him. Thinking back to his own scribbles and scratch-outs, he knew he would've been doomed without Malfoy's help. His own admission of this fact, even just to himself, was like a harsh kick in the stomach. Harry hated that, unintentionally or not, he'd fallen somehow dependent on Draco effing Malfoy for something (no matter what it was). It repulsed him, the sheer idea did. Nonetheless, McGonagall noted him gesture that he was finished, and waved her hand as to indicate he sat patiently and waited. Half-nodding absently, Harry sighed, and propped his elbow underneath his chin for support. He was certainly still tired as ever, that was for sure. He fought to keep his eyes halfway open, dozing off...

And then something utterly different and unorthodox crossed him. Shrugging off his directionless musings, sitting more easily in his seat Harry thought guiltily to himself, '_I reckon being partnered with Malfoy may not be so bad after all_.' The illegal thought dwelled and haunted over him, his now reconsidering mind. But as uncomfortable as Harry felt about the whole thing, nonetheless, deep down inside he could not help but feel an uncanny sense of appreciation for Malfoy's helping hand. Then he thought about the night before, how beautiful he'd found Malfoy no matter how much he hated himself for it; how the crypticness, the leftover cliffhanger of that unresolved encounter, made him disappointed, but in a way not familiar before; how, right now without meaning to, his unforgettable green eyes had locked entrancedly on his greatest rival (but now world's greatest study buddy candidate just as well) without his better notice.

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**Author's Endnote: **Stay tuned-Chapter Four will take WAY less time to post. Promise :).


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